


Winter Night Jazz

by Scarlet_Gryphon



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Comments are highly appreciated!, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21765613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Gryphon/pseuds/Scarlet_Gryphon
Summary: It never fails to take her breath away that he considers her worthy of his love and attention, and she strives to show him that he means just as much to her in equal measures.(Post-Canon winter-themed Ducknerva fluffy smut. You're welcome.)
Relationships: Minerva/Duck Newton
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Winter Night Jazz

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a post-canon 'verse wherein Minerva takes over the general store from Leo, because no one else is going to.

It's late when Minerva returns to the small house she and Duck now share. She's tired from her long shift at the general store, but she's eager to see her husband nonetheless. It still brings a smile to her lips to think about Duck in those terms. They've been married for little over a year, and it's been three since the events that finally physically brought them together occurred, but sometimes it feels gloriously longer. 

She puts away her coat on a hook near the front door and makes sure to leave her snow-crusted boots on the mat to dry off, not wanting to track the wet through the house. Minerva quietly makes her way deeper into the house, keeping an ear out for Duck. His truck is outside, but she has yet to see him. Onion- and Minerva has tried to get a straight answer out of Duck as to why he named his cat that and has yet to manage it -comes trotting up to her, greeting her with his tail curved forward and a happy meow mixing with a rumbling purr. 

Minerva leans down and gently scratches the gray and white cat under the chin, earning a deeper purr and a scent-marking before Onion wanders off to go get a drink of water from his dish in the kitchen. Minerva can smell faint hints of warm food- likely some of the leftovers from the prior night's dinner -wafting in the air, and the stress of the day melts away like the snowflakes attempting to linger on her clothes. Good. Duck has taken care of himself in that regard. Her hope is that he'll let her take care of him in other ways, assuming he's willing.

She finds Duck in his usual pajamas of a t-shirt and sleep pants snoozing on the squashy couch, a safely banked and controlled fire crackling gently away in the fireplace, the heavy fireplace screen firmly in front of it so Onion can't get in and embers out. Duck is snoring gently, the hand that is resting on his belly rising and falling with each breath. The other hand is dangling loosely at his side, his fingers almost brushing against the soft rug that covers the wooden floor.

Minerva pauses long enough to take a picture with her phone (it joins many others like it, though to Minerva, each are as special as the others) and then tucks it away in a back pocket of her jeans. She takes a seat on the floor next to the couch, reaching up and lightly running her fingers through Duck's messy hair. He keeps saying he needs to go in to get a trim, but Minerva can't help but notice that he has yet to do it. 

Duck stirs after a few passes of her fingers through his hair, making one of the many sleepy noises that Minerva loves as he wakes. He unerringly turns his face towards her like a sunflower tracking the sun, his smile sleep-soft and warm as he opens his eyes.

"Hey, honey," he says, his voice rough and rumbly from his nap. "Sorry. I was gonna wait for you to get home, but the couch is too damn comfortable."

Minerva just laughs, the corners of her mouth and eyes crinkling deeply in her happiness. "So you have said many a time," she replies, letting her hand fall still, her palm cupping the top of his head. She leans in and kisses him, the brush of their lips both achingly familiar and tantalizingly fresh to her, no matter how many times they've performed the same action in many different ways. Duck makes a quiet noise of complaint as she moves back, sounding remarkably like Onion when the small feline doesn't get enough pets.

Minerva smiles at him, running her fingers through his hair one final time before letting her hand drop to her lap. "Thank you for waiting up for me nonetheless. I wasn't expecting it to be so busy today."

"Christmas is comin' up soon," Duck points out as he sits up, scrubbing a hand through his hair and only further contributing to its messiness. "Lots of people want to get the groceries stocked up so they don't have to go out in the snow on Christmas Eve."

"True." 

Minerva gets up only to join Duck on the couch, their sides and legs flush against one another. It truly is a comfortable piece of furniture, and one that can fit the both of them on it with ease in almost any position. She turns just enough to see him properly, drinking in the picture he makes with the firelight backing him. The warm light picks out rich colors in his hair, and Minerva doubts she'll ever be able to truly put a name to all of the different hues and shades. 

It's barely a breath between that thought and the next that she's leaning forward and kissing him again, this time with considerably more intent than before. Minerva is hyper-aware of Duck and his reactions given how highly attuned she is to his body and its unique language after so long, and every sign points to him being wholly on board with how things are going. Minerva's not quite sure how it happens, but soon enough they end up horizontal on the couch with her hips nestled between Duck's legs and his head resting against the armrest. She loves having Duck like this, thrilled with knowing that she is the only one allowed to touch wherever she likes. 

Minerva knows Duck is somewhat self-conscious of his body, but to her, it's a warrior's physique. Besides, defined, rippling muscles are of no attraction to her, not when she can have Duck as he is. He is soft and strong and healthy and_ alive_, and more importantly, he loves her and allows her to love him in return. It never fails to take her breath away that he considers her worthy of his love and attention, and she strives to show him that he means just as much to her in equal measures.

Duck shifts beneath her in a way that has Minerva humming happily. Good, that means she can move on to phase two. She sits back long enough to strip off the t-shirt she's wearing and then just as swiftly removes her bra, letting the garments fall to the floor with barely a thought as to what might happen to them. Minerva's more interested in how Duck reacts to the sight, his hands immediately coming up to run up her sides as he sits up as well.

His fingers skim over the various scars, dips, and stretch marks that litter her skin, passing over each one with a gentle reverence. Minerva appreciates how much self-control Duck has when compared to some of her former lovers back on her home planet. Sex was enjoyable then, but all too often hands would become possessive rather than pleasurable and Minerva intensely disliked that. Duck, though... He treats the whole of her body like it's something precious and worthy of care.

Duck leans forward and brushes a kiss against a particularly thick scar that runs along her breastbone, the end curving just under her left breast. It's one of her oldest scars, earned when an enemy had managed to crack open her breastplate and attempted to disembowel her, but thankfully one of her compatriots had stopped it before it had gotten too far. Minerva tears her thoughts away from that long-dead battlemate and focuses instead on the living and breathing form of her husband, who has moved on to lavishing care elsewhere, intent on creating a mark against her collarbone that surely means she'll have to wear a shirt with a closer collar the next day.

While he's occupied, Minerva slips her hands under his shirt, feeling the rumble of his voice through her hands as Duck murmurs adulation and love against her skin while he works. She manages to get him to stop long enough to divest himself of the shirt, allowing their naked torsos to brush against one another if wanted. 

"Do... D'you want to move this upstairs?" Duck asks. Minerva notes that the flush in his cheeks has extended down his neck some, the firelight making his skin glow warmly.

"We could," she says as a slow and steady smile curves her lips, "or we could stay down here and enjoy the fire some more."

Duck glances over at the fire, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily. Minerva can all but see the wheels turning in his head as he quickly calculates how long the logs might have until it's safe to leave them to burn themselves out. It's yet another thing she loves about him. His intelligence is deep and varied, and she doubts she'll ever get tired of listening to him talk about subjects he loves. Seeing him rant about silly things that annoy him is amusing as well, though Minerva keeps that to herself. Mostly.

"I think," Duck says finally, turning back to her, "that if we're going to enjoy the fire some more, we should both not have pants. Or underwear."

Minerva's smile widens and she tips back her head in a delighted laugh. "You make a very good point."

She gets up long enough to add her jeans and underwear to the pile of clothes on the floor, relishing in the half-choked sound she hears Duck make when the last scrap of fabric is off her body, the only thing remaining on her person her wedding ring. It's both endearing and empowering to know that she still has such an effect on him even after a year of marriage. Minerva turns to watch him get undressed as well, making sure he catches the full force of her appreciative gaze.

She watches in fascination as the flush extends further down his chest. Duck shakes his head, as if to clear his ears of water, and then holds out a hand to her. Minerva takes it and then situates herself so she's straddling his thighs, the cushions cradling their combined weight. She lifts up just enough so Duck can position himself correctly and then slowly but surely sinks down on him, a low, happy sigh fluttering its way out of her throat while she moves.

Duck's callused hands are on her hips, steadying her and guiding her with the same surety she's seen him wield his sword. Their movements after that are as slow and unhurried as the snow falling outside, the two of them more focused on one another than the rapid chase after an orgasm. That happens too on occasion, but for now, they're happy to simply exist and let the pleasure build until it inexorably slides into a deep warmth that soaks into their bones and heats them from the inside out.

They stay cuddled close for a while even after that, only moving upstairs to clean up and then eventually fall asleep together in their warm bed, bodies pressed against one another and hearts beating as one. 


End file.
